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What if I tell her that it serves him right he got beat up? If he was drunk he probably ran his mouth off at the wrong people, or picked a fight with someone he shouldn’t have. Maybe I don’t give a rats ass that he’s lying in some hospital bed. But I do care about my aunt and right now she is anxious and worried. I can’t have her driving herself to the hospital. I can’t let her do this alone.
“Fine. I’ll get my keys,” I say with a sigh. Looks like that early night just got put on the back burner.
* * *
Staringat my father in the bed, as the machines beep and hiss, keeping him alive, I wonder if this was anything he did. What the hell could he have done to make someone so pissed they’d do this to him?
I mean, back in the day, he was a mean drunk, but now, even with a drink in him, I can’t imagine he’s a threat to anyone. His hands are gnarled from years of manual labor. He’s six feet tall, but he’s sixty-one years old and the years of drinking haven’t been kind to his body. He’s not in the best shape. But for some reason, some people have really done a number on him. His hands are bandaged and I wonder if they’re broken. That would kill him if they were. He’s always worked with his hands — even when he was drunk, he still worked. As much as I hate to admit it, he can fix almost anything — providing it doesn’t talk or breathe. Things – he is good with. People – not so much.
I’m still staring at him when the doctor walks into the room. “Mr. Decker,” he says to me, holding out his hand. “I’m Dr. Addison. I’m the doctor in charge of your father’s care while he’s with us. He’s very fortunate that somebody came across him when they did. He had quite a lot of internal bleeding.”
“Well, I’m sure the alcohol helped numb the pain for him.”
Dr. Addison blinks at me in confusion. “There was no alcohol in his system.”
“What?” I frown. They must have made some kind of mistake. “But he was in a bar.”
“Well, he wasn’t drinking. His blood alcohol was zero.”
I’m aware of Lucia’s hand rubbing over my back, reminding me to breathe. She should tell me that she told me so, but she’s not that kind of person. It’s true that I always think the worst of my father, but that’s because that’s all he’s ever shown me. Until recently anyway, when I no longer need him in my life.
But if he wasn’t drinking, what the hell was he doing in that damn bar?
I look at him. Machines beeping and wires sticking out of him. The only reasons he’s still alive.
“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, the words unexpectedly sticking in my throat.
“He was in pretty bad shape. Like I said, if somebody hadn’t found him when they did, he wouldn’t have made it much longer. We’ve done all we can. Only time will give us the answers. His body has been through a lot,” the doctor says quietly.
“They have any idea who did this to him?”
“No. The guy who called it in said he didn’t see a thing. He was a college kid home for the weekend and out for a late night jog. He called the sheriff too and I expect he’s on his way. We had to dispose of your father’s clothes, but he had his cell and some loose change as well as the keys to his truck on him. They’re all in the locker there.” He nods his head toward the small locker beside Harvey’s bed. Then his pager beeps and he glances down at it. “I’m sorry, I have to be somewhere. I’ll check in later if you’re still here, but feel free to go home and get some rest. The drugs we gave him won’t wear off for a while.”
“Thank you, doc,” I say with a nod of my head.
My aunt Molly sits beside Harvey, holding his hand and watching his chest rising and falling. “Who would do this, Jax?” she whispers when the doctor leaves the room.
I suck in a breath through my nose. “Does he go to that place a lot?”
“No,” she shakes her head and wipes away a tear. “He hasn’t been to a bar in years. He avoids them as much as he can.”
“So why was he at one tonight? You have any idea?”
“No. He just said he was going out and he’d be back in a few hours. I was distracted preparing dinner. He seemed pleased though, you know? Like he looked happy about where he was going.”
I go to the locker and take out his cell. It’s an old model and he needs an upgrade, but I’ve hardly ever seen him use the thing. I’m surprised he knows how to. I click the button and a picture of Blue lights up the screen with a request for a six digit passcode.
“Any idea what his passcode is, Molly?”
She shakes her head. “No. Sorry.”
I blink at the screen. His birthday would be too obvious. He’s not tech-minded, but he’s not stupid. I tap in the digits of my own birthday but get an error message. I get two more tries.
“You know when Blue was born?” I ask. My father loves that dog more than anyone or anything.
“No idea,” Molly replies.
“Fuck!” I mumble, rubbing the pad of my thumb over the cracked screen. I think of another birthday, I mean I’d be surprised if he even remembered it, but it’s worth a try, right? When my mother’s birthday unlocks the screen I don’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved.
